


Homed

by fichuntie



Series: Rehoming [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cat Ears, Cat/Human Hybrids, HEA, M/M, Master/Pet, Past Abuse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16319057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fichuntie/pseuds/fichuntie
Summary: Continuing "Rehoming your problem pet."Keith and Shiro have committed to staying together, pilot and first officer. As glad as Keith is to have a safe home, Shiro raises more questions over Keith's past owner. Worse: when Keith's past owner tries to reclaim his pet, Shiro and Keith will have their commitment tested.Tags and ratings will change as updated.





	1. Chapter 1

As reassuring as Shiro had been in the car, his grip on the leash was firm as he pulled Keith out of the car. Keith struggled to keep his balance with his hands lashed behind him even as Shiro kept a hand on his neck. The warm weight at his nape made Keith follow easily, feeling like a kit. Shiro pushed him up the stairs and into the apartment. Each step into the apartment was one closer to his punishment. Keith looked wide eyed at the home: what mundane object was Shiro going to reveal as a tool of pain?  
Shiro shoved him into the kitchen chair. Keith’s head knocked into the window behind. Shiro paced the kitchen then stopped in front of Keith. With his hands on his hips, Shiro loomed over the pet.  
“I want to trust you, but you assaulted me while I was sleeping! Then you ran away by hacking my car! You nearly got us both killed, running off into the desert with no supplies and that crazy driving. Why?”  
“You didn’t want me. I wasn’t just going to stay still to be thrown into the trash,” Keith’s voice rang out in the apartment. There was not point in calmness when an owner had already set on punishing him. “Why else would you say I can’t stay here and contact a new owner?”  
“We need Allura’s help. Neither of us know much about Galra pets nor how to free them from a bad owner. I can’t do much with my Garrison connections with Iverson around. If I draw too much attention, it might get back to your owner.” Shiro’s voice was the same as in the classroom. Easily he explained the cold logic of turning Keith over to a stranger.  
“You’re rehoming me to her,” Keith whined. He shut his eye to feel the cool window at his back.  
“No, I wouldn’t just hand you over to a stranger, even one Pidge recommends. Altea has information we need, Keith. I wouldn’t make a decision like that without talking to you, trying to fix things. Like with Pidge’s examination, I wouldn’t let her take your blood without your permission.”  
Keith wanted to wrap his arms around his body, but the green leash still kept them back. He was only barely holding himself together. Instead, he curled his fingers, feeling the way his arms tensed against the rope.  
“That also means you can’t do things to me without my permission. Waking me up that way --” Shiro rallied, “You need a person’s permission to do that to them.”  
“No one asked my permission to make me do that.”  
Here Shiro stumbled.  
“Well, pets are… different. But I’m not going to ask you to do that. I don’t expect you to.”  
Keith didn’t understand. Owners always expected pets to want, to show initiative. Consent was a word reserved for business, not pets and pleasure. Owners always wanted pleasure and pets were meant to anticipate and provide to the unspoken desire of their betters.  
Shiro knelt beside the chair. He leaned forward, chest brushing against Keith’s shoulder. Keith kept his eyes forward, tense and still in fearful anticipation. Shiro’s hands ran along his arms, fingers twisted in the leash. Shiro’s fingers plucked at the green fabric, undoing the tight lacing. Slowly, Keith drew his arms forward, the slight prickle of sensation from the movement after the limbs had been still. His tail twisted, no longer pressed between his back and arms.  
Shiro caught one of his hands.  
“This is your home, Keith, if you’ll stay.”


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro withdrew to the opposite side of the apartment. He forbade Keith from being out of sight. Keith wanted to hide in the bedroom, suspicious that Shiro would change his mind about punishment, but unwilling to disobey a direct command. Keith had chosen to stay with Shiro so he kept that tenuous trust by staying near him. 

After a wait that seemed too long, Keith’s ears perked at the noise of someone approaching the apartment. Anything to break the tension. He tried to repress the reaction until a minute later they both heard a knock. Shiro went over to the door. 

“Pidge! You got here fast,” he said, opening the door for her. Shiro’s smile was strained, even to Keith, and his friend seemed even less convinced. 

“It seemed like an emergency,” she replied. 

Shiro made sure to block most of the door with a warning look to Keith over his wide shoulder. Keith peered, but he couldn’t see Rover. Pidge had the same inquisitive look, a contrast to Shiro’s frustration. 

He waved her in. The door slammed hard against the frame, startling them both. Pidge gave him a squinting look which he shrugged off. Keith wasn’t as assured. He knew the taut white skin over knuckles meant danger for a pet, even if these were glinting silver. He felt tempted to slide to the floor beside Shiro, but scared to come in reaching distance. His tail thrashed low to the floor.

The two humans settled at the sofa. Pidge scooped her legs up to sit in a perch and peered at Keith. Although his ears fell flat, he kept his gaze steady. At least she didn’t have Rover with her, Keith thought. Pidge’s attention returned to Shiro. 

“So you caught him,” she said. “I watched the coords. I’m surprised he made it that far, First Pilot Shirogane.”

“Thanks for lending your car,” Shiro said, rolling his eyes. 

“That kind of driving makes sense for the Kerberos pilot, but not a pet.” 

So Shiro had been a pilot, probably on the Kerberos mission. He was young for an officer, at least compared to Iverson and the other military men who slid through his past owner’s mansion. At the Garrison, Shiro hadn’t looked much older than the cadets he was teaching even if he was broader and more serious. Keith had never seen another man with an injury as debilitating as a lost arm. But he’d also never seen a man pilot over the edge of a cliff without hesitation before Shiro. 

Keith hunched even more.

“Keith seems to have an instinct for piloting. Have you driven before?” Shiro’s flinty eyes turned to Keith.

“I’ve driven before on other… attempts to run. It’s how I knew how to hack the car.” 

“He answered a question about escape velocity piloting too,” Shiro said to Pidge. Keith thought he even sounded proud, but that was impossible.

“I can appreciate a good hack. As long as he didn’t damage Green,” Pidge said.

“Your precious transport car is safe. Did you hear back about the other Galra enthusiasts?” Shiro asked. 

“I’ve got the Altean’s contact information. They’re more than just pet enthusiasts, Shiro. Are you sure you want to do this? Galra Tech won’t be happy you’re meeting with an Altean.” Pidge replied. Keith had heard of Galra Tech before, a conglomerate within the Galra corporate empire best known for military technology. 

“Yes. Keith deserves answers,” Shiro said.

Pidge handed over the set of coordinates in exchange for her keys. 

“Remember what I told you, Shiro. Be careful.”


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro waved as Pidge walked down the stairs. He straightened from leaning against the doorway and stepped back into the apartment. When he took hold of the door to close it, his hand flared a bright purple color. His grip on the door was blindingly bright. Keith flinched, yellow eyes wide. The hand actually glowed white, incandescent. 

Shiro yanked his hand away from the door. Where his hand had been was now a smouldering indent. Keith could see the distinct impression of fingers in the blackened wood. The purple light from the prosthetic lit Shiro’s face from below. Shiro kicked the door shut as he whirled back into the apartment. Keith could feel his skin prickle, fur raised, as Shiro advanced on him. He couldn’t move. This glowing arm was worse than anything any owner had done to him. Shiro’s face was lit by the unholy purple light, glinting gray eyes turned to obsidian flints. He was able to disintegrate inches of solid wood. Keith closed his eyes, unwilling to see how Shiro’s hand would singe his fur and indent in his flesh once the man punished him. 

No hand or pain descended. Keith breathed. The only sounds were both their heavy breaths and the low whirr of the prosthetic. The fear burned away to anger as Keith waited for the blow. Keith slowly opened his eyes.

The arm was a bright white, vibrating towards purple as Shiro heaved gulping breaths. Shiro’s other hand grasped his metallic elbow, knuckles and veins prominent. 

“Focus. Focus,” Shiro muttered. Each ragged breath between the mantra was louder. 

Keith pressed against the window, fur on end. Shiro stood in the middle of the apartment, casting a purple glow on everything. Keith almost thought he saw tears at the edge of Shiro’s lashes, but knew he was wrong as owners didn’t cry.

Slowly the fist unclenched. With each uncurling finger, the light faded a little. Sweat clumped the hair to Shiro’s face. Finally, the hand returned to normal. Shiro stared at it, raggedly panting. He wrenched a panel on his forearm back, then dug his fingers into a tangled mess of wires. The arm relaxed entirely, deadweight. 

Shiro collapsed on the couch. He pulled off his shirt. The prosthetic hand rested open palmed on the couch as Shiro arranged it. Keith watched from the corner, eyes wide. Shiro moved slowly. He’d never seen Shiro without a shirt so he’d never seen him adjust the prosthetic. Shiro’s shoulder and biceps were a mess of scars. The port for the prosthetic was a band of silver metal. The band seemed to cut into his flesh as tightly as the green fabric had into Keith’s arms. Shiro keyed a code into the inside of his arm which caused the arm to let out a final hiss as it powered down. His fingers pressed into each sliver of metal, methodically unlocking them from his shoulder, then he would breath deeply. Finally, the arm was unlocked. He pulled the prosthetic off. More sweat on his brow and clavicle pebbled on his tan skin. 

The inner band had galling, and the wear extended up to his flesh. Not quite bruised, the skin above the port bore callouses atop the scars. Keith shuddered to think of the alternating numbness and pain the attachment would cause. Shiro managed this pain daily, hourly. It was a wonder how gently he had touched Keith’s neck and unwound his arms. Perhaps, Keith dropped his gaze at the thought, perhaps Shiro had not meant to push him into the window or frighten him by slamming the door, perhaps his arm was already malfunctioning. 

Shiro held the prosthetic by the wrist, canting to one side either from carrying the weight of the metal or the adjustment of moving without it attached. He dropped the arm carefully on a metallic platform beside the couch. 

There was a long moment of silence.

“Keith, come here, please.” Shiro said.

All the fur on Keith’s body stood up. 

“Please,” Shiro repeated. 

Keith stalked over to the couch, slow but willing. He sat, close but not touching. He hoped that this human was as kind as he seemed. Even from inches away, Shiro was hot, throwing off more heat than normal. Warmer than when their thighs touched on the way to the garrison and hotter than his fingers on the green rope in the desert. The port seemed to vent warm air and his skin had traces of sweat. Keith felt a shiver run down his tail.

“I have physical therapy this evening, at least.” Shiro groaned. He used his flesh hand to massage his upper shoulder. Resting his head on the sofa back, his adam’s apple bobbed. Shiro was so large, and his neck muscular. “We can meet the Alteans tomorrow if my arm recalibrates properly.”

“Does it hurt?” Keith looked at the arm on the floor then at the still red impressions of the bearing. It had to have. Stupid pets asked stupid questions.

“Sometimes,” Shiro looked at the empty space of the kitchen. 

“I could…” Keith trailed off, “Pets are trained to give massages.”

“Massages?” Shiro asked, worried. He probably didn’t think a discarded pet could give a good massage. Doubted that he took the training well enough to apply a massage. Likey disgust at a pet asking to paw at an owner. Keith looked back at him, ready to face the challenge. Instead he found only hopeful curiosity in Shiro’s eyes, and hopeful brows pulled up. 

“Not serious massages, but to make owners feel ...nice,” Keith said. He settled on the last word slowly. Pets often practiced on each other. He knew the press of hands could soothe away the aches of punishment as much as be a tease. The offer was open ended enough that Shiro could turn the pleasure away the same way he’d pushed Keith’s mouth away. 

“Yes, I’d like that,” Shiro beamed, quickly laying down on the couch. “I used to get massages after physical therapy. Therapeutic or chiropractor massages. Eventually my insurance maxed out.” He pulled his shirt off and laid back down.

Keith looked down at Shiro’s back, a tableau of muscles and scars. Perched on a narrow width of inches of couch by Shiro’s waist, Keith felt his tail twist for balance. He laid a hand lightly on Shiro’s shoulder. The metal port was warmer than his shoulder. Keith pressed down harder with the heel of his palm on the scalding flesh next to the port. 

“Thanks. That feels really good,” Shiro groaned.

Keith worked slowly and steadily. Shiro tensed sometimes when Keith first laid his hands over a new area. Then he would settle, fingers relaxing out of a fist on the cushions. Keith had only ever massaged one other human so large and furless skin was different than other furred pets.  
“You’re doing a great job, Keith.”  
The scars feel different. Most aren’t bright pink, but faded. Under his hands, he can feel the hard knot of flesh under the larger ones. Pressure around the edges, then careful forays towards the center to work the tension and injury out. Keith worked silently. He heard the pants and groans Shiro made as the knots are worked. Keith never massaged a human like this. Usually massaging a human is a pretext for warm oils and sex, but between pets serious massages were common. Keith knew how to press pain away from overextended muscles and avoid bruises while giving a massage. But Keith never had someone so obviously strong and responsive under his hands. 

“Harder, baby,” Shiro murmured, face half pressed to the cushion. 

Keith complied, ears high. He smelled less of the pain-sweat on Shiro. He leaned over to reach the far side of the man’s torso. The heat leeched off of Shiro as he relaxed without the prosthetic. Keith pressed down the edge of a wide pink scar. The scar was a jagged stretch, half the span of his hand. It must have hurt, the other scars of which some are wider, the Kerberos mission, the prosthetic, the past Shiro carries. 

Shiro seems so big. He took up almost the whole couch. Keith could sit across the narrow vee of his back, feel that strength between his legs and press his hands down the latissimus and spine. He twitched his tail as he lifted a leg to swing over. 

A shrill alarm set off from Shiro’s prosthetic. 

“That means it’s time to leave for therapy,” Shiro sat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	4. Chapter 4

“Shiro! Good to see you!” Coran greeted as Shiro opened the door. Coran took in his tied off sleeve, but kept his smile bright. “Who is this little pet you brought with you?” 

Shiro turned to Keith, a hand on his back so he couldn’t fade behind him. He pressed against the soft athletic shirt Keith had borrowed, the loose cotton warm. 

“This is Keith. Keith, meet Coran,” Shiro said. 

“Ah what a warbsniffler he is! Will he be sitting in on your session tonight?” Coran pulled Keith into a hug. 

“I don’t usually hug strangers,” Keith’s tail was a fuzzy exclamation point. Coran could certainly be overwhelming in his enthusiasm. 

Shiro nodded, “Yes, he’ll join us,” already pulling out a set of supplies from a cabinet. Keith made an abortive movement towards the cabinet, but Shiro already had gathered his mat and supplies. Shiro spread out the mat so he would face Coran and the mirrored wall. He set his hand towel to the side and an extra one for Keith.

“Why of course you should join us! I think I have another - yes, in here,” Coran brought out another practice matt for Keith. “It’s been a good many vargas since I taught someone with a tail, but I think I remember the Borvinsian technique well enough.”

Keith exchanged a wary look with Shiro. Shiro gave a one armed shrug. 

“Coran knows a lot of Altean healing techniques. They’re not common on earth, but they’ve done more for me than Garrison medical could.” 

Keith glanced dubiously, the tip of his tail twitching from side to side. Keith sat on the mat, long legs crossed easily into the starting pose. Shiro couldn’t keep his attention on Keith once Koran demonstrated the first pose. 

For several months, Shiro had avoided physical therapy without the prosthetic. The results caught up to him as he stretched. Most poses he tilted precariously to one side. After only half an hour, Shiro already felt his flesh arm aching. He’d become over reliant on the prosthetic mechanical strength. Coran’s mouth thinned under his moustache, but he was gentle as he corrected Shiro’s posture. Coran firmly corrected Shiro as he had before during the long hours helping Shiro gain the strength to handle the prosthetic. Shiro was pathetically grateful that Coran didn’t point out the atrophy of his work. 

Keith followed along to one side. Coran occasionally instructed him about using his tail as a counterbalance. Keith had a natural grace at the movements. The pet’s animal grace was apparent as Keith easily lowered himself to the floor. As Shiro sweated, Keith seemed to take to the movements without any. 

“Shiro, hold your right leg back and lean your weight forward. Keith, lift that tail higher! As if a kelpar were trying to eat it!” 

Shiro and Keith shared a confused glance at the unfamiliar “kelpar,” but both followed the otherwise clear instructions. Shiro could see the high arc of Keith’s tail, a long diagonal that extended past the slope of his back. Some of Keith’s black hair had fallen over his shoulder. Shiro shook his head to move his own tuft of hair out of his eyes. 

Then he was caught up in the strain of his arm. His elbow threatened to buckle if he had to hold the pose much longer. Patience yields focus, he reminded himself. With a deep breath, he focused on the pose and felt his bicep tremble with effort. 

“Lower yourself to the floor. Use your core! Great,” Coran said.

On the exhale, Shiro lowered himself to the floor. His limbs felt hot then cold as he relaxed them. He flopped onto his back. This was definitely a night where therapy was going to leave him exhausted. 

“Yes, I think you both applied yourselves to training very well,” Coran praised them. “Shiro, you shouldn’t go so long only with the prosthetic. You know how I feel about becoming over reliant on that Galra tech. There are all kinds of hazards!”

“I understand Coran. I’ll be more diligent,” Shiro crossed his arms over his chest. The fear in Keith’s eyes when his arm had malfunctioned had convinced him: he needed to be a better leader. He wiped a hand cloth to remove the worst of the sweat. Keith followed the motion, purple eyes bright, so Shiro offered him a clean cloth too. 

“Keith, you show a lot of promise,” Coran enthused. He twirled his moustache as he continued, “I’m quite proud of remembering all those tail exercises.”

Keith’s trail crooked, a sign of pleasure, Shiro thought. 

“Alright, head on out. Don’t be a stranger, Keith.” Coran waved them out to the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so my tumblr was deleted in the purge. so no link atm.
> 
> sorry for being away for so long. i'm adjusting to the new job schedule.


End file.
